


The Wolfstar Letters

by Juul



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Epistolary, M/M, Post-Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 05:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4991533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juul/pseuds/Juul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus writes to Sirius while he is in Azkaban. Sirius never writes back. Warning: attempted suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Wolfstar Letters

To Sirius Black  
November 2nd 1981

I don’t love you anymore.

Lupin

To Sirius Black  
November 23th 1981

I’m taking your lack of response to mean that you have nothing to say for yourself. Maybe my letter didn’t hurt you as much as I intended it to, because you just don’t care. Because you never cared.

You’re the Judas, Sirius. You betrayed all of us. I always thought you might betray me some day, but I’d never have guessed that you’d betray James.

Do you remember what happened to Judas? He tried to undo his betrayal, but found out that the world doesn’t work that way. You needed to find that out for yourself sometime, I suppose. That some rules weren’t there just for you to break them.

Judas hanged himself. Maybe you didn’t write back to me because you did that, too.

I think I’d prefer that. I’d rather have a world without you in it than a world with you in it, being a remorseless traitor. And a liar, too.

Couldn’t you have said something to me? Couldn’t you have woken me some night at three A.M, like you did for countless unimportant things, and explained that you were in trouble? That you were doubting yourself, and us, and James and Lily and Harry? That you were in danger of making the stupidest mistake of your life?

Yes, even more stupid than the other mistake you made.

But maybe your plan was to be a liar all along. When we were Freshers, did you come sit with me because I carried the Honeydukes Extra Creamy Chocolate, or was it all just an elaborate prank? Had your family put you up to it, trying to find out how the other half lives? Were you just interested because I took a turn for the furry every month?

I still don’t love you. It shouldn’t matter because I don’t think you ever loved me back.

Lupin

 

To Sirius Black  
November 24th 1981

Maybe they don’t allow you to write back. I wanted to ask Lily whether they let you write letters from Azkaban. It’s the kind of thing she’d know. But she’s not around. Neither is Peter or James. Neither are you.

I always thought you’d break me some day. You were always more interesting than me. I imagined you wouldn’t do it on purpose. You’d just get bored and go off on an adventure and disappear and I’d be left here. And I thought that James, or at least Peter and Lily, would be there to pick up the pieces. But you took everyone down with you and you did do it on purpose. Do you see?

There’s not a single person left in the real world who knows me for what I really am.

The flat is so terribly empty without the lot of you in it. As you know, I’m not the type to make a lot of noise and I complain about it when others do, but it seems the last ten years have ingrained themselves in my brain: I can now not concentrate without noise.

If you could write to me maybe there’d be some improbable explanation you could give. Armed with a quill and parchment you could make everything okay. Please write back to me.

Lupin

To Sirius Black  
November 26th 1981

McGonagall came around for tea today. It was very, very strange.

She doesn’t think they let you write in Azkaban, so I’ve given up on hearing from you. I’ll stop writing.

I wrote James a letter too, last night, and it felt only slightly more creepy than sending you one. Writing to you is almost as creepy as writing to the deceased. I’ll stop.

Bye,

Lupin

 

To Sirius Black  
December 15th 1981

I said I wouldn’t write to you anymore. 

The thing is, though, that some nights I don’t sleep for even a minute, because I’m afraid you’ll come by to pick up the Nimbus 1980 and I’ll sleep through it. Some mornings the scratching of your paws at the kitchen door is what wakes me. Some afternoons I want to shout for you to get your lazy arse out of bed, because the Stones are on the telly. But you’re not there.

Other nights I do sleep. I close my eyes and I see green flashes of light and James and Lily crying and Harry sitting up in his crib. Do you remember the broomstick you got him? He used it the last time I visited. All afternoon he wouldn’t let it go. I wonder what happened to it. 

I know the human heart has two chambers, but how can it be that I feel fire in one and ice in the other, and the fire does not melt the ice and the ice does not cool the fire?

What if you don’t ever come back? 

Lupin

To: Judas Black  
December 19th 1981

So what, if you don’t come back? I hope you don’t. I hope there’s no way for you to escape, and that it’s really terrible there. I hope you’re filled with remorse but have no way to ever unburden yourself. I hope you never get to eat chocolate again.

You killed them, Sirius. You didn’t actually hold the wand to their heads or utter the spell, but it’s just as bad as if you had. It’s worse, really. It’s as though James said: here’s a weapon. You could use it to destroy me and all I love, but I trust you not to. And in return you spat in his face, you killed all of them and you laughed while you were doing it.

Did you hear what happened to Alice and Frank? It’s possibly the most sickening thing I have ever heard. More sickening than you, even. They were tortured until they went crazy. Your twisted cousin helped do it. 

I have nobody left now. I’m done writing. Done. Forever.

I’ll never love you again.

Lupin

 

To Sirius Black  
February 3rd 1982

I said I’d never write to you anymore for the second time. It might be best if I kept that promise.

Every day when I see your mug in the cupboard, when I trip over the chew toy you left on the porch, or the one time I looked up the photographs of 1978, I can’t help thinking that you might have a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of it.

Maybe it wasn’t you that betrayed all of us. It’s seems like an awful lot of trouble, doesn’t it? A decade of friendship and love for us (real, or, if not real, a very convincing sham), in order to prove your loyalty to Voldemort. That’s a bit extreme. You could have befriended all of us in 7th year and helped him just as loyally.

Or maybe you turned on us at some point. You were always the grudge-holding kind. I’m pretty sure we were friends at first. Real friends, I mean. Then again, I feel like I can’t be sure of anything anymore. Was it the Prank you pulled on Snape, when I was angry with you? Have you always stayed angry with me for being angry? It can’t be. We got together months after that. You wouldn’t have dated me if you’d turned against us. Or maybe you would have, just to make it harder on me still.

Because that’s the thing: James and Lily and Harry and Peter are dead, you are in prison, and I end up feeling like I’m the one being punished.

Lupin

To Sirius Black  
February 10th 1982

How can it be that Karkaroff is released from Azkaban, and you’re still in there?

He’s a Death Eater if ever I saw one. That he’s willing to betray the other Death Eaters only makes him more of a rat. They should throw him right back in.

If I’d been asked a year ago to make a list of people I suspected, Karkaroff would have been in the top five, and you’d have been at the very, very bottom. The very last. Look how that turned out.

Some days I’m fine. 

This morning, though, I spilled the bottle of aftershave you kept in the bathroom cupboard. I was reaching for a new tube of toothpaste and I knocked it over. It nearly threw me into a fit of hysterics. It smells like you so strongly, and you smell so nice. I scourgified the room eight times, and I still daren’t go in there. 

I wonder if you still smell nice right now. This morning, I swear, I’d rather have been with you in Azkaban than alone, scourgifying the bathroom floor.  
The change was horrible without you again, even if Arthur Weasley is brewing me Wolfsbane potion every month now.  
I’m so lonely I think I could float away and there’d be no one to wave me off.  
Remus  
To Sirius Black  
February 11th 1982

How pathetic would it be if it turned out that you really are a heartless Death Eater, a liar and a traitor? I can’t believe I’m stupid enough to still confide in you after everything. I won’t write anymore, I promise.

Lupin

To Sirius Black  
February 12th 1982

By the time you get this I will have floated away.

You’re the only person I have to say goodbye to, really. I’m sorry to bother you with a suicide note no one wants to read.

Moony

To Sirius Black  
March 7th 1982

You probably thought I was dead.

If you are who I always thought you were (Padfoot, mine), I’m truly sorry to have put you through that.

If you are a traitor, know that it gives me perverted pleasure to hurt you, if indeed, I did.

I was really going to do it, I want you to know that no matter who you actually are. But, being a half-blood at heart, I used a razor on my wrists instead of a wand to the head. Maybe because the wand reminded me too much of how Prongs went. After I’d done it, I sat at the kitchen table and watched the blood run down my wrists and pool on the floor. It only hurt while I was cutting, not after that. But it takes time. And Arthur Weasley chose that exact time to drop by to deliver my Wolfsbane potion for next month.

He took me to St. Mungo’s and I’ve been there ever since. I haven’t told the Healers I am a werewolf. I’m legally bound to tell them, and they would be within their legal right to refuse to treat me if I did. But I can’t bear to see the disgust in their eyes. And since the full is in two days, I’ve been begging them to let me go home. They say I can, but only if I stay in touch with friends and family. I didn’t mention that I don’t have any anymore.

I’m a Calvinist. You know I always have been. If a Healer tells me to stay in touch with people, I obey. That’s why I picked up a quill and wrote to you again. You are the last friend I have left, even if you’re not real. Even if you throw my letters out unopened.

Remus

To Sirius Black  
March 15th 1982

Mercifully, they let me go on time for the full, and it was gruesome. Not as gruesome as it’d have been without the potion, but worse than it ever was when you were there. 

Molly and Arthur have come to see me every day since I was released. Molly took away all of my Muggle razors, scissors and even the knives. I’ve never had to do it all with magic before, but now I do. There’s little sense to Molly, though. I could still use a slicing charm on myself. 

Bill (do you remember him? He’s Molly and Arthur’s oldest boy) is going to Hogwarts come September. I envy him so much. I miss Hogwarts.

Do you remember our last evening in 7th year? You held me, and you said it was all going to be alright. I didn’t believe you. I thought maybe it would be alright (it wasn’t), but it would never be as good as it had been again, so why bother?

You promised me it’d be alright, Sirius, but it’s horrible.

Remus

To Sirius Black  
March 19th 1982

It must be getting tedious for you, listening to all of my doubt. Or maybe you stopped reading these letters months ago. If you are still reading them, don’t stop.

I just can’t make up my mind. The you I’ve known for the last ten years is incompatible to the one that emerged this November. How could you do it, Sirius?

You were home the night before it happened. 

You betrayed them, you betrayed me, you betrayed all of the Order and Dumbledore, and after you’d done it you came home, put your arm around me and slept in our bed. How could you?

Remus

To Sirius Black  
March 25th 1982

I made a complete fool out of myself just now. I had an episode much like the one with the aftershave the other day. I came across The Princess Bride. Our old copy, I mean. The one you stole, and then I was really annoyed because I wanted no one to know I’d read it but then you read it too and you highlighted all the good parts and you made all these little notes in the margins and at first I was really upset because You Just Don’t Write In Books, Sirius!, but then I read what the notes said and then we first kissed, do you remember?

Of course you do. I don’t mean to bore you with my ramblings, but I needed to tell that story and I can hardly tell Arthur or Molly. That would be a bit much to ask of them.

I re-read all the notes, some of them more than once (I used to read them when you were at James’s for Quidditch if I missed you. I never told you that.) and I just can’t figure it out. How could you write those things to me then get James and Lily and Harry murdered? I thought I was going mad.

It wasn’t pretty. The wolf came really close to the surface. I broke most of the china. Now I’m eating off plastic plates.

If that’d been all, it wouldn’t have been all that extraordinary. It’s not all that unusual for me to burst out crying in the middle of the afternoon these days. The other day I opened your sock drawer and I had an episode much like this one.

But that wasn’t all. I ended up on the floor of the bathroom again, the battered paperback in one hand, a picture of James and Lily in the other. These two things you did wouldn’t fit together. They made my head hurt. I screamed, and I’m pretty sure Giovanni was quite alarmed. He didn’t call the police, though.

Then I did the thing that enables me to henceforth be known as Remus Round the Bend. I stuck my head in the fireplace and flooed to Dumbledore’s office. Snape was there, and I never thought I truly hated him until that moment.

The Marauders are destroyed and my life with them, and he just stood in Dumbledore’s office looking content and teaching goddamned potions and generally being a complete git. I pulled my head back and by the time I’d flooed there completely, Dumbledore had dismissed Snape.

You know I’m usually very polite. Today was not one of my polite days. Half crazed and my eyes probably still red from crying, I demanded to know if there was any way to get around a Fidelius charm.

He looked at me for a very long time, and I asked him over and over. Like a complete madman, I kept muttering: “Is there any way? Is there any way? Is there any way?”

It was horrible. I could feel all the portraits looking at me through their half-closed eyelids and I wanted to scream. I wanted you to be innocent so badly. I want, so badly, for you to be my Sirius again. I want you to answer my letters.

Dumbledore shook his head and I fell apart in the middle of his office.

I do love you.

Moony

To Sirius Black  
March 26th 1982

Yesterday wasn’t a good day, as you might have gathered. Dumbledore got Madame Pomfrey to give me something to calm down. I was very glad to see her again. She’s doing okay, I think. 

Then Dumbledore spoke to me for a long time. He has the kind of voice that’s wonderful to listen to. He said that sometimes we can love people but that the world can change the people we love without changing our love for them. And that it can be very hard to adapt your heart accordingly. He said I loved you like we were still Moony and Padfoot (well he didn’t say that, but that’s what he meant), while we were Remus Lupin and Sirius Black now. He’s probably right, but all I could think about then was The Princess Bride.

He asked me to go to Godric’s Hollow sometime soon to sort through their stuff. I think I might have agreed to do it but I’m not going to. I can’t go in there.

When I got back to the flat it was quiet. Giovanni had left a note asking me if everything was alright. I didn’t reply, but it’s not as though he actually cares. 

I couldn’t get warm when I got into bed. I read a bit of The Princess Bride. We always agreed that the first chapter (of the real story I mean, not all that frame story you used to call crap) was the best. Well, I read that. Then I put the book aside because hysterics can make one pretty tired, and my eyes were still itchy.

I lay awake for a very long time. Here’s the thing, Sirius: I feel guilty towards James and Lily and Harry for loving you. They were my friends too, you know. How can I love their murderer? How can I miss you so much it hurts more than my transformation and still call myself their friend too?

I just don’t know anymore.

Moony. 

To Sirius Black  
March 30th 1982

I still have the Muggle job at the pub, and so far it’s been enough to pay the rent, but it’s been getting harder to make ends meet. I thinks I’ve used so many duplication charms on most of my muggle money that it’s starting to look fake. Not that Giovanni’ll notice. Or mind, for that matter. I always thought the pizza place was a cover-up of something shady. I know you thought so, too. 

Dumbledore offered me a job at Hogwarts as a librarian when I was there. I said no, but that I’d think about it some more when I was feeling better. It’s the kind of thing I’d want to ask Lily about. On the one hand, it would be great. If you’d asked me at school, I would have named librarian as my ideal job, probably. But if I took it I’d have to move out of the flat. I won’t miss Giovanni, but I’ll miss the hallway where you slept the time you were too drunk to come any closer to the bed. I’ll miss the couch that was just large enough to seat all of the Marauders and a redhead, provided I sat on your lap and Lily sat on James’s. I’ll miss the shower. I’ll miss the bed, and the chair you used to sit in whenever you read to me. I don’t think I can do it.

But what if you never come back? I could, maybe, live in this flat till the end of my days and no one would think less of me for it. I can hardly work in the pub forever, though. My current best friend is probably Ginny, the Weasley’s youngest. She’s adorable and she likes stuffed animals. One day I will need to have a social life again. It won’t be long until Molly will start encouraging me to go to clubs and shag men I don’t know. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want her to tell me to do that. So maybe I should take the job.

These are my options: trade in my life for the life of a Hogwarts librarian, leaving all memories of you behind, although I don’t delude myself into thinking I’ll be able to stop writing to you, or cling to what I have left of you and the others, watching helplessly as it all grows more and more vague and distant in my memories.

Or you could just write back to me, tell me you’re innocent and beg me to wait for you. I would, you know.

Moony

To Sirius Black  
April 1st

Today is April’s fools day. I feel the need to emphasize this because it used to be one of your favourite days and somehow I don’t think Dementors are the type to celebrate it.

Happy April’s Fools day!  
Moony 

To Sirius Black  
April 9th

Last night was the full and it was bad again. I wish you were here. I wish you were innocent.

This morning I saw in the Prophet that they are strengthening security measures after someone made a Dementor very nervous (or whatever happens to Dementors when they’re not happy), and the irritated Dementor almost administered the kiss to one of the inmates.

Was it you? Did you annoy the Dementor the way you used to annoy McGonagall? Did you goad it into attacking Bellatrix, is that what happened? God, I hope so. If you pulled a prank like that at least you’ve still got some life in you.

I’ve taken to skipping the obituaries in the Prophet, because I’m scared I’ll come across yours. People die in Azkaban every day. Please stay alive. I’ll wait for you.

Moony

To Sirius Black  
April 14th

I am a psychopath. I’m writing love letters to the murderer of my best friends and their child. You aren’t wrongfully imprisoned. You are in Azkaban because you betrayed your best friends and ended up killing them. You did a despicable thing and there is something seriously wrong with me.

I will truly never write to you again. The Sirius I knew is gone. You are a Death Eater. You are loyal to Voldemort and you can’t be loyal to me at the same time.

Farewell, Sirius.

Remus

To Sirius Black  
June 1st 

I don’t think I have to tell you this, but James, Lily and Harry died half a year ago today. Every time I try to pat myself on the back for not thinking of them or Peter or you for a few moments, something like this comes along to remind me, taking me completely by surprise, and I’m back on the bathroom floor.

It was Molly that convinced me to stop writing to you six weeks ago. I never dared to tell her I still wrote to you. It’s too pathetic. But I go to dinner at the Burrow at least once a week ever since I had my incident with the razor and one night her badmouthing turned contagious. You did a truly horrid thing. I hope you know that.

I hope you also know me a little, and if you do you know that I can never let an anniversary pass without mentioning it, no matter how terrible the thing it commemorates.

So I’m writing to you to say that you did something horrible exactly six months ago today.

Remus

PS: I didn’t use to be spiteful. It’s your fault.

To Sirius Black  
June 10th 1982

Are you even gay, Sirius? It always seemed too good to be true, that you would be. 

I feel like Neo. You don’t know who that is, probably. I was never a big fan of The Matrix and you never knew anything muggle unless it was something I couldn’t shut up about.

Neo is the main character in a series of movies (You remember what those are, don’t you? I remember how surprised you were when I told you Muggles had acted out The Princess Bride.) Well, these movies with Neo in them are called The Matrix and their basic premise is that everything we perceive as reality is actually a very detailed computer simulation. A computer is a machine Muggles use for stuff they can’t otherwise do because they have no magic. And in The Matrix there’s a computer that has created the whole world. So none of what we experience is real, and if you know that you can manipulate reality, too. But you can never trust your senses.

Do you see? There is nothing left for me to be sure of. Just like Neo, I have to question everything that’s ever happened to me. Every smile and word and touch and note you ever gave me could be fake. 

Exactly how much of what you told me was a lie?

Remus

To Sirius Black  
June 20th 1982

I don’t think I can do this anymore. I’m sorry.

Moony

To Sirius Black  
July 6th 1982

I don’t miss you. You betrayed Lily and James and you made sure there was no one left for me when you were through. I miss Padfoot.

Padfoot made the full moons (tonight, by the way) easier for me. He lit Marlene McKinnon’s hair on fire when we were in second year, because her mark in Charms was higher than mine. He wrote all of those notes in my copy of The Princess Bride and was embarrassed when I found out. In 7th year, he told me everything would be alright and he lay next to me every night even when it wasn’t. He usually left his chew toys lying around for me to trip over them. He was loyal to the Order. He was loyal to Dumbledore, Dumbledore trusted him and he had every reason to. He loved me.

Padfoot doesn’t exist anymore. There’s no one that loves me now.

Remus

To Sirius Black  
July 12th 1982

When I sent you that last letter, the one I sent on the full moon, my owl came back within the hour. I’m taking that to mean that he dropped it. It wouldn’t surprise me, Westley is very old. Or maybe Azkaban moved. Does it do that? I would have noticed if it moved near, wouldn’t I? It would be an excellent way to keep the prisoners disoriented, I suppose.

There’s a package in the post for me, so I’ll keep this short.

I hope you love me,

Remus


	2. 2. More Wolfstar Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Would anyone be interested in betaing this for me? This ties into the letters of the first chapter and often specifically refers to them, so you might want to keep them handy. Whenever both of the boys wrote on the same day, it is mentioned here which letter came first. If you’re interested, I could post all of the letters in chronological order as a separate story.  
> Warning: Sex is mentioned towards the end, but it doesn’t go into detail.   
> Enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!

To Remus Lupin  
November 1st 1981 (before Remus wrote for the first time)

Moony,

James and Lily are dead. He found them, because Peter betrayed all of us. Hagrid has taken Harry to Dumbledore. Don’t leave the flat and keep your wand at the ready. I’ll be home as soon as I can.

I love you.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
November 2rd 1981 (After Remus wrote on the 2nd)

Remus, it wasn’t me. I promise you I wasn’t their Secret Keeper. They are taking me down to my cell now.

I love you, even if you don’t return the sentiment.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
November 5th 1981

Moony,

Please write back to me.

Both of my previous letters have returned to me unopened. Apparently, Buttercup was monitored from the moment James and Lily were attacked because I was a prime suspect, and they haven’t allowed any of my letters through to you. I’ll keep trying, though.

If you do get this, I owe you a big explanation.

Wormtail and I switched at the very last moment because Dumbledore suspected you were the spy, and he said to me that I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you anything if I were the Keeper. He thought you might be passing information on to Greyback, I think. And I never told you because I wasn’t sure he was wrong. I didn’t tell Dumbledore Peter and I switched, because I didn’t want him to think I didn’t trust you. I just talked to Peter and James and we all agreed that it’d be best if it be Peter.

I’m sorry. I’m more sorry than I’ve ever been for anything before.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
November 7th 1981

Another letter returned to me unopened. Are they not allowing me to write to the outside world, or are you returning my letters to me without looking at them?

I hope you’re not ignoring them, because then there really is no hope.

The Dementors are starting to get to me. When I close my eyes, I see James and Lily and Harry, sometimes Wormtail too. When I open them I look at your only letter, or the walls.

My cell is small. It’s rectangular and I can cross it in two strides. The ceiling is too high for me to make out and there is a small square window, but it’s too high up to look out of.

If you’re not opening my letters because you blame me for everything that’s happened, that’s okay. I blame me too. 

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
November 20th 1981

Dear Moony,

When my last letter came back unopened, I was sure: they’re not letting them reach you. You were never one to resist the temptation of an unopened envelope.

Please write to me again. 

Do you remember, back when we were making the Map, the time James slipped in the secret passageway in the dungeons? He screamed then. Later he said he hadn’t been scared and we nodded, but we’d all heard that scream: he had been scared. I keep on hearing that scream over and over again in my head.

I hear Lily scream, too. Like the time we were having lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and her water broke, and then you Apparated her right into St. Mungo’s, and James nearly splinched himself trying to come with you. 

You know all of this, of course, but they haven’t let me out of here yet. I haven’t spoken aloud in twenty days.

And I hear crying like the time we babysat Harry and you knocked over that vase at ten PM, just when we’d gotten him to sleep. Do you remember how upset Harry was, and how upset I was with you? I wish you were here with me and knocked over a vase. Or rather, that we were both outside, knocking over vases left and right.

When I’m not hearing the screams I think of you, before we were the Marauders. When you sometimes thought Hogwarts was a dream. Remember how you sat in the Hogwarts Express that first day, when you were munching on the Honeydukes Extra Creamy? You were so lonely then. I know you were. 

Mostly I just miss you. There’s nothing the Dementors can make me remember that hurts more than missing you. 

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
November 23th 1981 (after Remus wrote on the 23th)

I cried when I got your letter. Funnily enough, I hadn’t cried before that.

Westley came closer and closer to the window and I was afraid she was going to be blown off course, or that she’d faint before delivering the letter, or that they’d somehow keep her away, but she made it, and it came. I cried then because I thought you’d replied to my letters.

But you haven’t. You haven’t even received them. 

Your mistrust hurts, but I have no right to complain, really. If I’d trusted you from the very start, we wouldn’t even be in this mess.

I will always love you, even if you never forgive me.

Padfoot

To Remus Lupin  
November 24th 1981 (After Remus wrote on the 24th)

I would never break you, Moony. I would never grow bored of you. I still know you. Dumbledore knows you.

I wish there was some way to let you know what really happened. I tried sending you a wandless Patronus today, but I suppose if that were possible someone would have done it ages ago and driven all of the Dementors away.

They are murderous. I have some lucid moments (mostly when I’m writing to you, or reading and rereading your letters), but other than that it’s like I’m constantly watching one of these movie-thingies you’re so fond of, and it only has scenes in it of terrible things that have happened to me.

Lily and James. Peter being the rat he always has been (I guess we could have seen that one coming), you, hurt. Or even worse, you not caring about me at all anymore. My mother shouting for me to never come back, or that one time I wasn’t there for the full moon and you nearly ripped off your own arm. That was horrible.

Oh, Merlin, Moony, what will you do on the full moon? The last one was on the 11th, you were all alone then, and I’m pretty sure you’ll be just as alone next time. Please be alright. 

Padfoot

To Remus Lupin  
November 27th 1981 

Don’t stop writing. Please don’t. I need you to write to me.

I know that that is a selfish thing to ask. I can’t even imagine how much you must be hurting right now. And most of that is my fault. But my periods of lucidity are growing shorter. All I can hear is the screaming.

I hadn’t thought of it yet, but you’re not reading any of what I’m writing to you. There is nothing to keep me from telling the absolute, undiluted truth. Still, I can’t think of anything more truthful to say than that I love you. I have loved you from that first moment on the Hogwarts Express onwards. I loved you in first year, in second year, in third year, in fourth year, in fifth year, in sixth year and in seventh year. I loved you the year we moved into the flat together, when we met Giovanni. I loved you on Prongs’s wedding, and the night after. I loved you when you knocked over that vase. I loved you when Dumbledore thought you were the spy. I love you right now, even while you’ve given up on me.

And I’ll continue to write to you, never mind if it’s creepy and useless.

James really is gone, isn’t he? I feel so strange most of the time. The screams are starting to sound more real than the scratching sound my quill makes on the parchment. 

I feel as though if I walked home right now I’d find you in the flat wearing your furry slippers, reading The Hound of the Baskervilles. I can imagine Prongs sitting next to you with Lily on his lap and Harry on hers.

I can feel the Dementors move around the tower. They’re distant right now.

I still feel suffocated in here. It’s so tiny. The window is so tiny. I think they’re controlling Buttercup somehow because she never comes to visit me unless I’ve written. She comes back within ten minutes of taking my letter, and it’s never been opened. It’s not like her. She’s the type to intrude and beg for attention shamelessly at any opportunity, so I think they bewitched her to make her stay away from me, and also to not deliver any letters to the real world.

I miss you and I love you.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
December 1st 1981

The most unbelievable thing happened. I was allowed out of my cell for dinner.

When the Dementors opened the door I thought I was surely going mad. It’s happened to most. The only reason I still sometimes feel like Sirius is because of you. Other times it’s like all that’s left of me are the screams.

The door opened, and the light blinded me. They didn’t bind my arms but I couldn’t move them from my sides, either. I had no idea where I was (rooms often move around this tower, I suspect, because my cell wasn’t in the same corridor as it had been when I entered it), but a Dementor brought me to a dining room. Just when it’s presence started making me queasy it left.

At the dinner table you can see and feel the other prisoners near you, but it’s like you’re inside a soap bubble and you can’t speak to them. There was no chocolate, but I ate some chicken. I hadn’t eaten meat in a month. It was wonderful.

I won’t tell you about what the tower sounds like at night. I think I might very well be the only moderately sane person here, but then again, I’m writing letters to no one. How sane is that?

I love you. If I didn’t, what would be left of me?

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
December 11th 1981

The full moon is tonight.

I relish it because just now, I can miss you for entirely selfless reasons. I can be sure that you’d be better off with me there instead of without me.

I never told you this, but now I can because you won’t know.

You weren’t the only one afraid I’d break you. You were always so wonderful, Moony. You were kind, and good, and patient with me. I was careless about everything, and I was afraid one day I’d accidentally drop your heart on the floor and it would break out of sheer fragility rather than my intent. Prongs isn’t around anymore to assure me, but I asked him almost every day what he thought I could do or say to make you happy. I was always so afraid I’d fuck up, and now I have.

The only night every month I could be sure I was doing well was when there was a full moon. I’d seen how it went when I wasn’t around. I’d seen you almost tear yourself apart and I was certain that it lay within my power to make it easier on you. So I did, and once a month I felt useful. I felt sure.

So tonight I can miss you, not because I need you, but because you need me. 

Please let someone take care of you afterwards. Ask Molly or Arthur if Dumbledore is busy. I love you.

Padfoot

To Remus Lupin  
December 16th 1981

You wrote to me again. When I saw Westley appear I wasn’t sure he was real.

I’m not sleeping either, for obvious reasons. I still hear James and Lily and Harry scream most of the time, but sometimes I think I also hear the other prisoners. The Dementors increase their intensity at night. Or maybe I just feel worse because the nights are loneliest.

I promise I will come back. I promise you. Have I ever broken a promise, Moony? Because I think not. I promised to keep your secret in first year, I promised to love you forever in 5th year. I now promise that I’ll come back to you, so please sleep.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
December 20th 1981

I know. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please don’t stop writing to me. You won’t, you’re Moony. Letters are what you live for. You love writing letters. I have to rely on that.

I cried again when I read about Alice and Frank. That’s terrible. Was their house not under the Fidelius? Then again, that’s proven not to be too reliable after all, hasn’t it? They have a son, don’t they, the Longbottoms? I wonder what’s going to happen to him. I hope one day Harry and he can be friends.

There’s another thing I’ve been thinking about whenever I’m able to: Prongs and Lily made me Harry’s godfather. When I arrived at Godric’s Hollow the night it happened, I tried to tell Hagrid that, but you know how he gets when Dumbledore’s given him orders. He wouldn’t let Harry go. I suppose it’s for the best because I was arrested not long after that, and then where would Harry have been?

I don’t think I’m under maximum security because I’m not going crazy, at least not as quickly as the others. Maybe that’s just because I have a stack of your letters. I keep them under my shirt, close to my chest, all the time. It’s slightly impractical. Maybe because I’m not guilty of what I was convicted for, I can hold on to reality.

I’ll continue to write to you. It helps, even if you don’t reply. Also, I might have a plan.   
I love you.

Padfoot

PS: You’re right. They’re not serving chocolate here. 

To Remus Lupin  
December 25th 1981

Merry Christmas. Please write to me wishing me a merry Christmas. I keep on missing you more and more. I would have thought it’d grow easier, but so far it hasn’t.

Of course, I was reminded of last Christmas, when the six of us were together at Godric’s Hollow and Harry got the cranberry sauce all over everything. And the Christmas before that, when it was just the two of us and we had the chocolate fondue, and the Christmas before that, when we were all invited over at the Potters and you wore gloves because you couldn’t eat with the silver cutlery and I was very upset about them not owning normal cutlery like normal people, and Prongs was so embarrassed about it. 

We had turkey here today instead of chicken because it’s Christmas, but other than that it was horrible and drafty and damp and dark like it always is. Not at all Christmassy.

Anyway,

Merry Christmas, Moony. I love you, I hope you’re not alone tonight and I hope that whatever dessert they serve where you are has chocolate in it.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
December 31st 1981

I can’t wait for this year to be over. I can’t help feeling that every day is a day closer to the day that things will change, although I don’t know how, and also thinking that the new year is somehow a whole year closer to things changing.

I could be released. It could happen, if someone happened on evidence from which it could be deduced what really happened. Doesn’t a Fidelius charm leave some kind of contract or evidence behind?

I could die here. You’re not writing anymore and my moments of lucidity are growing shorter.

Or I could get out all by myself. Maybe.

Yours,

Padfoot

To Remus Lupin  
January 3rd 1982

Happy 1982, I suppose.

In your last letter you said you’d never love me again, and I’ve kind of avoided that in my letters. But I have thought about it. Quite a lot. That’s probably because the Dementors are here, too, making it very appealing and easy for me to think unhappy thoughts.

Firstly, you are speaking under the assumption that I betrayed James and Lily. I want to repeat that I did not. I’m hoping you’ll still love me if you ever find out the truth.

Secondly, it matters very little. I will always love you. I will love you for the rest of my life even if I never see you again, even if you don’t love me back.

Please write, though.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
January 9th 1982

Good luck with the full moon tonight. I miss you.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
January 11th 1982

You haven’t written. No surprise there, since you said you wouldn’t.

But that means that I’m left to my own devices here, and it’s starting to wear me out.

There is a bare mattress for me to sleep on. The light filtering through the window wakes me every morning. I never know what time it is. Not knowing the time, ever, is very disconcerting. At some point, I get a goblet of water and a piece of bread. Then another one around lunchtime, slightly bigger. At dinnertime the Dementors come to take me to the dining room, where I can see the others but we can’t speak to each other. That’s because of the soap bubbles I told you about.

You were right about Bellatrix being brought in. I saw her at dinner a couple of times. 

Mostly I reread your letters, sometimes I write my own.

I attempt to turn into Padfoot often, because being the dog makes every feeling less intense, so maybe the fear too. I haven’t managed it yet, though. It’s hard without a wand. It’s hard without you.

I love you,

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
January 23rd 1982

I have another terrible thing to confess. I saw Bellatrix again today at dinner. Rabastan sat next to her. They could not speak to one another, they just sat there, side by side.

Just for one shameful moment at dinner today, I wished you were in here with me.

I’m sorry.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
February 4th 1982 (after Remus wrote on the 3rd)

You wrote. You wrote me a letter.

I don’t know whether to be glad that you’re reconsidering or upset that you still don’t know what really happened. I’ve been trying to come up with a way to let you know, but there is none except for escaping this place. I’m working on it.

I never wanted to hurt anyone, Remus. Not Prongs and Lily an Harry, but least of all you. 

I wish I had photographs of 1978 to look at. That was a good year. I’m sad that the Marauders will never be together again. I miss that I can’t trust my memories of our time as Marauders because Peter deceived all of us. I miss Prongs.

I miss you.

Padfoot

PS: I’m sorry I always leave the chew toys lying around. 

To Remus Lupin  
February 11th 1982 (after Remus wrote on the 10th)

They released Karkaroff? He’s complete and utter scum. That’s terrible. Moody won’t be happy about that.

Tell yourself whatever you need to, Moony, to make it through the day, but I do not smell nice just now. They allow me a shower once every week, and my next shower is tomorrow. That means that I’m smelly and sticky and sweaty today, my hair is filthy and my stubble is reaching actual beard territory. My kingdom for a bottle of aftershave.

Don’t cry, Moony. I’m sorry I wasn’t there at the change. I didn’t know Arthur could make the Wolfsbane Potion! That’s certainly a relief.

Don’t float away. Let me lie on top of you to pin you to the floor, the way I did countless times before we got together, just so I could touch you. Come to think of it, I also did that after we got together. What can I say? I just love pinning you down.

You might notice that I am unusually chipper for a prisoner of Azkaban. This is because I managed to change for a few hours last night and I got some actual sleep. For a dog, the bare mattress really is quite comfy.

Keep writing, I think it helps both of us.

Love,

Padfoot

To Remus Lupin  
February 11th 1982 (after Remus wrote on the 11th)

No. Moony. Please don’t. I know I have no right to make any demands but your letters make me feel so much better. Please keep sending them.

I love you no matter what.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
February 12th 1982 (after the suicide note)

No. No. No.

Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare. If you float away tonight I will do my very best to join you. Please don’t.

Please.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
February 13th 1982

I had an episode last night not unlike yours with the aftershave.

I haven’t slept at all.

I got your letter and I wrote my reply almost mechanically. I wrote it like it wasn’t really happening. Then I cried for a bit, but no one took notice. It’s not all that unusual here. Have you ever seen me cry, Moony? It started off silently but soon I was sobbing and throwing myself into hyperventilating fits. I pounded on the door. I demanded they let me out. I said I was very rich and that I would pay them for it, more than the ministry ever could. I begged them to let me go. They didn’t.

I never truly felt trapped until last night.

Dear, dear, lovely Moony, please don’t be dead.

Sirius

PS: You weren’t in the obits but I’m not sure that means anything. Surely someone would have written to me if you’d died? 

PPS: Then again, who’d bother keeping the traitor informed? Please just live.

To Remus Lupin  
February 14th 1982

If you really have died I feel very foolish for writing again. I suppose that’s what you felt like too.

I have nothing to end my life with. If I did I would already have done it. I miss you so terribly.

It’s funny. Before, the chances of ever seeing you again were infinitesimally small, and I was certain that I would. Now I am certain of nothing.

Still nothing in the obits. I love you.

Please don’t be dead.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
February 20th 1982

Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve written. I haven’t really been myself.

I didn’t want to wonder how you did it, but the Dementors made me. You probably did it some Muggle way, right? Sometimes Muggle suicides go wrong, don’t they? Please don’t be dead.

I also didn’t want to wonder whether Prongs or Lily died first. Prongs, I think. He wasn’t the type to hide behind the furniture. It happened at night, so he might already have been upstairs. I can see it in my mind so clearly I almost feel as though I was there. Prongs jumping out of bed in these ridiculously oversized pajamas, whipping out his wand and promising to off Voldemort with just one curse. Overconfident git.

So I think he died first. Then Lily. I imagine she’s the one that kept Harry safe. I can’t be sure, when I arrived at the Hollow the house was already in ruins.

I love you. Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead like they are.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
February 24th 1982

It’s surprising how willing they are to continuously supply me with parchment and ink and stuff. You’d think they wouldn’t.

I thought maybe there wasn’t an obituary for you because you’re a werewolf, but Dumbledore wouldn’t allow that, would he? He would have owled me if anything were wrong with you, wouldn’t he?

Maybe he wouldn’t have, because he despises me now, too. 

If you are alive, please, Merlin, let me know.

I will always love you.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
February 27th 1982

I finally got some sleep last night. I haven’t really slept since I got your last letter, and you know how I get. Itchy and irritated and anxious and nauseated and achy all over and generally in need of a hot bath, which is not in the cards for me right now.

It was too much for a moment, Moony. I need you to be alright. I transformed for the night just because I needed to not think anymore, and then I slept.

I love you,

Padfoot

To Remus Lupin  
March 5th 1982

It feels as though there is always a Dementor outside the door these days. I guess my worry is like a delicious Christmas dinner for them, the vultures. I don’t really have anything to say, I just needed the distraction of writing you.

Love,

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
March 8th 1982

Oh thank Merlin. Thank Circe and Morgana and Ptolemy and the Fates. You’re alive.

I cried so much when Westley appeared at the window carrying your letter, I think the other convicts were quite alarmed. 

I swear to God, if I ever get out of here, I’ll let Arthur Weasley tinker with my motorbike as much as he wants to. I’ll even buy him one of his own if Molly allows it. 

The Dementors outside are pretty restless. I feel like I’m floating and I can’t wipe the grin of my face. You’re alive. You’re there. There’s hope for me yet. My glee must be making them uncomfortable. I have to think some unhappy thoughts or they’ll get suspicious.

Don’t ever think I don’t open your letters. I keep all of them with me wherever I go. I’ve read them so many times that the edges and folds are getting frayed. 

When the Healers let you go, please don’t lock yourself away again. Visit the Weasleys sometime, visit Dumbledore. Visit Moody for my part. Just please take care of yourself.

I love you. I love you. I promise you’ll see me again, I promise I’ll get out of here as soon as I can.

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
March 16th 1982

I’m glad to hear the Weasleys have been keeping an eye on you. Molly is the type to make sure you eat, right? Because you need to eat, Moony.

Of course I remember Bill! He refused to let Molly cut his hair because he wanted it to be as long as mine. Do you remember? And then Molly asked me to cut my hair so as to provide Bill with a good example, and you said to her:’Sirius’ hair isn’t going anywhere,’ in this very stern voice, and it threw me into a huge fit of giggles because I know how much you love my hair. Just so you know, I just did a little eyebrow-wiggle because I know just how much you love my hair.

I also sometimes wish we were back at Hogwarts, but the world doesn’t work like that. We’ll never be the Marauders again and we’ll always miss James and Lily, but I can promise you that it won’t always be this horrible, Moony. It can’t be.

I love you.

Padfoot

To Remus Lupin  
March 20th 1982

I didn’t do it. I could never have done anything like that. I wish I was with you right now. I wish I could put my arm around you. I wish I could sleep in our bed.

I’ve been changing into Padfoot at night in order to sleep, but during the day I worry that the Dementors are starting to notice it. Do you think they can feel the change? Do you think they could incapacitate my ability to change?

I’m scared, Moony. I’m scared I’ll die in here before I ever get to see you again. I’m scared you’ll never get to read my letters. I’m scared you’ll never know I’m innocent.

Padfoot

To Remus Lupin  
March 25th 1982 (after Remus wrote on the 25th)

Yes. I remember The Princess Bride. How could I not?

I know it’s terrible of me, but hearing you fell apart makes me feel slightly better. At least you still care. 

I can’t even imagine what it must be like for you, not hearing back from me, and not even Dumbledore able to sooth your pain. At least I have your letters to hold on to.

There is a way, Moony. There is a way.

Sirius

PS: Eating off plastic plates? Well, at least that means you’re eating, that’s good to hear.   
PPS: I always said Snape was a git.  
PPPS: Of course Giovanni didn’t call the police. He’s way too afraid his drug trafficking is going to be discovered.

To Remus Lupin  
March 27th 1982

I haven’t changed, Moony. At least, not so much that I love you any differently. We will always be Moony and Padfoot.

Don’t go to Godric’s Hollow yet. Wait a while longer and we’ll go there together. 

All I can think about now is The Princess Bride. 

"My God, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches!”

“This is true love — you think this happens every day?”   
 “‘Well, you haven’t once said you loved me.’ ‘That’s all you need? Easy. I love you. Okay? Want it louder? I love you. Spell it out, should I? I ell-oh-vee-ee why-oh-you. Want it backward? You love I.’”

I’ve memorized these quotes, and all of them are still true. That won’t change, not even if we have to be Remus Lupin and Sirius Black now instead of Moony and Padfoot. But we’ll always be Moony and Padfoot.

Yours,

Padfoot   
To Remus Lupin  
April 3rd 1982

Here I am, writing back to you. I’m innocent. Please wait for me.

If Molly starts encouraging you to shag other men, I will unfortunately have to kill her, and then where will we be? I’ll be imprisoned again, rightfully this time, and you still won’t have anyone to shag.

Take the job if you want. The flat is not important. We’ll be together again and we can make a home for ourselves wherever we go. Maybe, if I ever do get out, Dumbledore will offer me a job as gamekeeper. Or caretaker even. I’d be dead good at that, because I’d have the Map with me. But I’d never want to give anyone detention, except for maybe the Slytherins. Imagine that, Moony. We could live together at Hogwarts!

I know it’s April’s Fools Day. I changed just to celebrate it, and then I barked very loudly for a while, because I need to know how observant the Dementors are. Pretty observant, when it comes to sound at least, as it turned out. They made a whole lot of fuss and one of them tried to kiss my neighbor. But that’s alright because I’m pretty sure my neighbor is Dolohov and he’s scum.

Padfoot

To Remus Lupin  
April 10th 1982

Yes, that was me with the barking incident you read about in the Prophet.

I wouldn’t dare die now. I would never die before seeing you again, I promise.

Padfoot

To Remus Lupin  
April 15th 1982

This is terrible and I love you. I can’t very well blame you for deciding not to write me anymore time and time again, I’d do the same if I were in your place and I love you. But I didn’t do it, and I love you!

I’m losing weight and I love you. I don’t want to eat anything and I love you. Please change your mind about writing, and I love you.

Sirius

PS: Do you remember? That’s the way Westley wrote all of his letters to Buttercup when he was at sea, and I love you.

To Remus Lupin  
June 2nd 1982

For a moment there I grew really upset with Molly, but it isn’t my place. As long as she’s not telling you to sleep with other men I’m just grateful that she’s providing you with some nutritious meals. And no, chocolate doesn’t count as a meal.

I can’t imagine what it must be like for the others here. The prospect of the possibility of a letter from you is all that keeps me going. It’s all that keeps the screaming at bay, the images of you on the bathroom floor, and of James trying to protect Lily and Lily trying to protect Harry and no one there to protect James. Of course I know that it’s been six months. I keep track of the days by scratching marks into the wall, but it’s confusing because lots of people have done that before me, so I can never know which marks are mine. Fortunately, you are meticulous enough to mention the date on each one of your letters, and that’s helping me keep track.

Eternally grateful that you decided to write again and forever yours,

Sirius

To Remus Lupin  
June 11th 1982

Of course I’m gay! How could you ever think otherwise? What about my eternal love for David Bowie and Mick Jagger? And Carey Elwes, for that matter? What about my love for you and my inability to keep my hands off of you, from the very beginning? What about the leather pants you always said you hated but I knew they just made you uncomfortable because my arse looked so good in them? 

What about that time in the Room of Requirement and that time in the bathroom on the fifth floor? What about all of those notes passed back and forth in the potions classroom in 7th year, which I know, by the way, you keep in the drawer next to your bed? What about all those times in the shower in our flat and that one time in the men’s room at the Leaky? Do you think I was faking all those times? Silly man. I couldn’t be straight even if I wanted to. Circe. It’s been so long since I last got to kiss you. I miss you so much.

I’m eating almost nothing now, but don’t worry about it, it’s because I have a plan. Be patient for a little while longer, Moony, and I’ll come back to you.

Padfoot

To Remus Lupin  
June 21st 1982

Just hold on for a little while longer. Have dinner at the Weasleys, I’m sure that’ll help.

I love you,

Sirius

Sirius signed his name with a flourish, put the note in an envelope and added it to the stack of letters that Buttercup had steadfastly returned unopened for the last months. He wrapped the thick pile of letters in plastic foil he’d snatched from a dish at dinner and put the package between his teeth. He thought of Remus for a moment. He thought of the way it felt to sleep next to him. He thought of the way it felt to play fetch with him in the park. He thought of their flat, with all the little things in it that made it theirs. He thought of all those things, but he didn’t allow the nauseating homesick feeling to fill him up. Then he changed into Padfoot. He was going back tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Obviously, this isn’t finished. Be patient, and there will be more. Thanks so much for all the reviews and the kudos.


	3. 3. Padfoot's Journey

June 21st 

When Sirius was the dog, he had to fight to perform a task efficiently. It was too easy, as Padfoot, to be distracted by a… fly. How easy it would be to be a fly! You could just fly wherever you wanted. Only a glass jar could trap a fly, and even those shatter so easily!

Tonight he’d fly too, though. He was quite sure he’d grown skinny enough to slip out. That was worth concentrating on, even if the flies did look like they’d be fun to chase. 

There was no particular reason that Sirius had chosen this night to escape, out of the countless indiscernible nights that made up his past and his future, other than that it was the present. He was skinny enough now, and determined enough too. The plan wasn’t clear, but the goal was. That’s the way it always was with Sirius’ plans, and it always ended up fine. Well, almost always.  
So Padfoot slipped through the bars that separated his tiny cell from the narrow, damp Azkaban corridor. It smelled of urine and people that only get to clean themselves once a week, but he could also smell the fresh salty air. The passage was scarcely lit, but dogs cannot be deterred by darkness. Other than the heavy door that separated the cell from the corridor, there was no barrier between the prison and the sea. He simply tread past the doors, down a flight of stairs, through another corridor, down another flight of stairs, his sense of smell directing him towards the salty water of the North Sea.

There was a small moment of distress when he walked by the intimidating gates and the Dementors guarding it. He was sure he could feel their eyes on him, but he was equally sure they had no eyes. It was disconcerting. From the gates of Azkaban, heavy stone steps led down to the beach. His first few steps were cautious, because a combination of sand and saltwater had made the stone slippery, but soon he was racing down to the shore. He jumped down the last few steps and landed on four paws in the wet sand. 

For a moment, Padfoot wasn’t on the shore of a godforsaken island in the middle of the North Sea. For him, it was the summer of 1977, the summer after graduation, and he was chasing Prongs in his Animagus form down the surf of Blackpool. Remus, quite a sight in his dark blue swimming trunks, was chasing them with a bottle of suntan lotion, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed. But then he dipped his snout into the water, and it was icy cold, and he was alone again.  
He shuddered. Icy, icy cold. And all alone.

Presently, he lets his two front paws slide into the water. And it is cold. He takes a step forward, then another, and allows the sea to soak his fur and chill him to the bone. This time, he lets the memory of Remus, all alone on the floor of their bathroom, fill him up and warm him somewhat. He walks into the water. The current is strong but not too strong to fight, and the coast of what he hopes to be England can already be seen in the distance.

He swims. The salt stings the little cuts in his paws and his cheeks, the cold stings him everywhere. The water stings his eyes. He thinks of Remus so much it’s like he’s with him. The water seems infinite, the shore is not getting closer. From one moment to the next, he’s hungry, and certain he will die here. His paws will give out, the cold is too much, the water makes his fur heavy and pulls him downward and it’s so much easier to just go along with it. There is a log of wood. He gives a last leap, clings to the log and passes out.

There are tears everywhere. He thinks of the kisses he used to rain on Remus’s cheeks and eyelids when Remus couldn’t help but cry the morning after the full, and the way he traced his scars with his fingertips and made Moony shiver. He thinks of the sadness that was then, and the sadness that is now.

When he wakes it’s because the sun has come up. He’s closer to the coast now, but he can’t be sure it’s the right coast. He can’t be sure it’s England. There is a moment of indecision: should he let the log go or hold on to it? What’s the faster option? What’s the most comfortable option? He lets the log go and immediately regrets it. The current is stronger than before and he doesn’t have the strength to fight back. He allows the waves to direct his course.

After another immeasurable amount of time, the water around him grows warm. He makes a choking sound as a wave of salt water hits his snout. But it’s not just water. There is something in it that’s making him choke. His lungs are clogged for a moment and he struggles to breathe, swimming along as quickly as he can. Lobalung venom. And he has no wand. The immediate danger fills him with a burst of sudden strength. He swims on.

In the end he reaches the shore of what he hopes is England. He shakes his whole body the way dogs do and stretches out on the warm sand. He’s made it. He sleeps.

 

June 22nd 

When Sirius wakes, he’s shivering. It’s a peculiar sensation because he’s not used to shivering as a dog. Slowly and carefully, he gets up. Every inch of his skin is itchy, every muscle aches. Salt is stinging him everywhere, and the entire right side of his body is covered in damp sand. He shakes and shakes and shakes himself but doesn’t get any cleaner.  
As a dog, even an exceptionally dirty one, it’s not too difficult to procure some food. Pub owners are always willing to give a stray dog some leftovers, especially in a small town like this one. Because the streets are deserted, it’s not difficult for him to steal some clothes from a line of washing, either.

 

Archie Oldfield has always worked in the Heugh Post Office in Northgate, and he’s resigned himself to the fact that he always will. Archie is fifty-nine years old, which isn’t, in his opinion, a proper age to start a new career. So he works at the post office, he sends packages and he sells stamps and it gives him pleasure to do so. It gives him pleasure to help the people of Northgate get their letters and packages delivered to the right place at the right time, and whenever that goes wrong he considers it a personal failure.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when a man Archie does not know enters the Heugh Post Office. This in and on itself is an unusual occurrence, as Archie prides himself in knowing all the inhabitants of Northgate, and it is not a town popular with tourists. The man is tall. His gaze is intense and purposeful. He is clad only in a greyish terrycloth bathrobe. He is not wearing shoes. Archie thinks that he has never seen a man that skinny before and clears his throat awkwardly. Apart from him and the strange man, the post office is empty.  
“What can I help you with, Sir?” Archie says it before he realises he’s going to, just because he always does. 

The man does not reply. Archie takes a bottle of water from the small fridge under the counter and offers it to the man. The man takes it and drinks all of it in one go. Then he clears his throat, coughs, and says:“Thank you.”

Archie nods. The man puts the empty plastic bottle on the counter. His fingers are thin, his wrists are thin. His cheeks are hollow. Archie takes his lunch from below the counter, unwraps his sandwiches and offers them to the man. The man eats them so fast it’s more like inhaling.

“What would it cost to get a package delivered to London?”He asks, his mouth still half full of bread. Then he swallows, and asks again, more distinguishable this time. 

“How much you got?” Archie asks. It’s not a question born of greed or meanness, it’s gentle. The man looks up, looks Archie in the eye for the first time.

“Nothing.”

He says it quietly, so that Archie has to strain his ears to hear it. Not to hide it, though. Because his voice is worn out and his will to speak is dwindling.

“What’s it for?” Archie takes care to make his tone the kind you’d use on an intimidated toddler.

“I need to let someone know I’m alive.”

The shop’s been running on losses for months now, another free package won’t hurt. Archie doesn’t make a conscious decision, but the next moment he’s taken the damp stack of letters out of the man’s hands and he’s handing him a pen. The man, eyes now brighter and shiny with what could be tears, scribbles down an address in London, nods gratefully at Archie and leaves.

Archie Oldfield lives alone, so when he recognizes the man advertised as an escaped convict on the news that evening, there’s no one for him to whisper to: “That man came into the shop today!” There is no one to appreciate his act of kindness but Sirius himself.

 

In an ally outside the Heugh Post Office in Northgate, Sirius changes back into Padfoot. He takes the terrycloth robe between his teeth and starts walking, a new spring in his step. At last, his letters are on their way to Remus. 

With that thought in the forefront of his canine mind, Sirius begins his journey. For the entire rest of the day, he walks. He sleeps in the tall grass of a field somewhere, then walks on the next day. He eats some rats he finds along the road, taking perverted pleasure from the thought that he might be eating Peter. Then he gags at the idea and the would-be Peter comes back up.

 

June 23rd 

The York Street postman is a very lazy young man. Most of the days, it takes him all afternoon to deliver the mail. Remus, who normally doesn’t receive any Muggle post, hasn’t noticed. When a package is delivered to him on the 23rd of June however, at 5pm, he notices. 

Remus is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the sandwich on his plate, considering whether or not to go to work. He doesn’t feel up to it, but he could use the pay. Then the bell rings and a gangly postman presents him with a package.

It isn’t heavy, as though it is a stack of paper. A stack of envelopes. A stack of letters. The package is wrapped in brown paper and held together with string. The handwriting on the package says his name and his address, but the handwriting belongs to Archie Oldfield, so Remus does not recognise it.

He undoes the string and tears the paper off. It takes a fair amount of tentative touches and intense gazes before he realises that the stack of envelopes in his hands is real, is addressed to him and his name is written in a dramatic handwriting he knows can only belong to one person. On the top envelope, there is also a muddy paw print.

He sits down again at the kitchen table, the pub now far from his mind and the sandwich equally forgotten. He spreads the thirty-eight envelopes on the tabletop and arranges them by date mechanically. A small voice at the back of his mind whispers: “He wouldn’t write thirty-eight letters to someone who meant nothing to him.” The only question left is whether the letters contain a plea for forgiveness or an explanation. He’s crying. He opens the envelope marked November 1st 1981.

Moony,

James and Lily are dead. He found them, because Peter betrayed all of us. Hagrid has taken Harry to Dumbledore. Don’t leave the flat and keep your wand at the ready. I’ll be home as soon as I can.

I love you.

Sirius

Remus Lupin knows what it feels like more than most to be at war with one’s self, yet he has never felt such overwhelming pain as he feels now. In his chest, sharp, cold agony and tears of endless sadness are warring with his sudden desire to laugh, to jump up and dance around the kitchen, to start singing with relief and joy.

Because it wasn’t Sirius that killed James and Lily. It was Peter. Which means two things:

Sirius did not betray any of them. Not James, Lily or Harry. Not Dumbledore. Most importantly, not him. That doesn’t bring James and Lily back to life, though. They are still gone. Harry is still alone. But Remus doesn’t have to be.

Peter betrayed them. Peter, who was always so unexpectedly good at tactical games like gobstones and chess. Who always seemed content to be in the shadows, but in the end grew too accustomed to its darkness. Peter, who used to sneak out far below the reach of the Whomping Willow to press the knob that stilled the tree for all of them. Peter, who always bought him chocolate frogs for Christmas, even after he’d completed his collection of cards.

Not Sirius.

He makes a choking sound that ends up being a sob, then another one that ends up being a laugh. He opens the next letter. He goes through them quickly, like he’s reading a crime novel he desperately wants to know the outcome of.

It hurts to read that Sirius suspected him of being the spy, but not as much as it hurts to read of him hurting, of him hearing James and Lily scream and being as alone as Remus is. He knows, despite the lack of prison walls around him, what that is like.

Sirius’ inclination towards reminiscing is what hurts him the most. The time James slipped in the secret passageway. The Honeyduke’s Extra Creamy. The broken vase.

When he comes to: “There’s nothing the Dementors can make me remember that hurts more than missing you.” He gets up to make himself some tea. A ball has formed in his stomach like the achy feeling you get when you’ve eaten too much dough before you baked it into biscuits. He tries not to think about the last letter and what it may contain. Why did these letters suddenly reach him now? Was it because Sirius had seen fit to escape or bend the rules? Was it because the Dementor’s sent an inmate’s belongings to their acquaintances after the inmate had passed away? He swallows some tea even though it’s still too hot and starts on the next letter.

When he reads the pleas Sirius sent him not to stop writing, he feels like a horrible fool for ever having done it. Guilt starts to creep up his spine and prickle in his neck. How could he have ever doubted Padfoot? He soldiers on.

He reads how Sirius has loved him for years and years. He understands, now, that Sirius was as afraid of breaking him as he was of being broken. He feels his own loneliness less heavily, crushed now by Sirius’s. He feels terrible about his suicidal episode all of the sudden, and more stupid than a hippogryf’s behind. The short paragraph informing him that Sirius, also, was tempted to end his life, breaks his heart into sharp pieces that stab his chest and every other inch of his body. 

But even these most terrible of stories, the loneliness, the desperation, can’t dispel the tiny sliver of hope that whispers: Sirius is alive. Sirius loves you. Sirius promises he’ll come back.

He laughs aloud when he finds that the incident he read about in the Prophet was caused by Padfoot’s barking. He could have known that.

Then, in the last two letters, lie the words that seal themselves in his eyes and his brain and his heart as a little bit of hope:

I’m eating almost nothing now, but don’t worry about it, it’s because I have a plan. Be patient for a little while longer, Moony, and I’ll come back to you.

Just hold on for a little while longer. Have dinner at the Weasleys, I’m sure that’ll help.

Silently, he gets up from the kitchen table. He wipes his eyes and his nose and steps into the fireplace to have dinner with the Weasleys. Just a little while longer.

 

As it is with Moony, more often than not, doubt doesn’t come until the wee hours. He’s eaten with the Weasleys, it did provide him with some distraction, but now he’s back home in bed. What if they did send him the letters because Something Terrible He Must Not Consider happened to Sirius? What if they are all part of the deceit? What if the letters were intercepted by Voldemort and he was being played? What then? What if he held on for a little while longer and no absolution ever came?

 

June 24th 

It isn’t until the third day of walking that Sirius realises that something needs to happen. He sits on a street corner in a town he’s never heard of for an immeasurable amount of time, looking at the people that walk by. Until there is one he recognises as a wizard.

“Sir.” 

His voice is raspy and quiet and the man doesn’t hear. He tries again.

“Sir.”

The wizard looks up, looks him up and down. Takes in the shoes he took from a random backyard along the way and the dirty terrycloth robe that make up the entirety of his outfit. Takes in his face, which he knows looks as though he could use a sandwich. Says:

“Yes.”

Sirius is relieved to find that he has not been recognised. 

“My wand was stolen.”

He says. The story is implausible, but in all his time of sitting on the corner he hasn’t been able to come up with much else. The man doesn’t seem to believe him, but doesn’t speak either.

“Could you maybe call the Knight bus for me?”

The man looks at him for a moment and at one point Sirius is sure that he will refuse. Then he stands on the sidewalk facing the street and sticks out his wand. 

“Thank you.”

Sirius’ voice breaks on the last syllable just as the big purple triple-decker appears. The man walks on without a word. Sirius wonders if maybe he was recognised after all, and the man will rat him out as soon as he gets on the bus.

He steps on anyway, shivers as he ponders his lack of money, takes another step, and another. He’s in. A gangly man, about his age, in a purple uniform to match the bus, approaches him. The man wears an eyepatch. Sirius recognises him: Davey Gudgeon. The Hufflepuff from his year that got hit in the head by the Whomping Willow. Gudgeon is squinting with his uncovered eye and seems to be struggling to place Sirius. Hurriedly, Sirius runs a hand through his disgusting hair, making sure his face is as obscured as possible. Gudgeon gives up trying to remember him and asks:

“Do we know each other?”

“No.” Replies Sirius curtly.

“Is it alright if I pay upon arrival?”

Gudgeon just nods and Sirius slips past him, taking a chair at the very back. When Gudgeon turns around again to face him Sirius feels as cold as if he were still in the North Sea, but Gudgeon only asks:

“Where to?”

“18 York Street, Westminster, London. It’s in the Muggle area.”

“That’ll be 11 sickles, 13 if you want a cuppa tea.”

Sirius politely but swiftly declines and closes his eyes for the duration of the ride.

 

Remus is sitting on the bathroom floor. He has his knees drawn up and his hands clasped around them. The sun streams in through the window. The edge of the bathtub is hard and cold against his back, but he does not shift. He has been sitting here since breakfast. It’s the only downside to working in a pub: no occupation during the day. 

Since his hysterical episode with the aftershave, he has taken to spending most of his time on the bathroom floor. It’s not uncomfortable there. It’s a logical place to go, really. There is sunlight. There’s water within reach as well as the toilet. If he gets too uncomfortable he sits on a towel. He counts the tiles on the floor, all of them blue. He listens to his own breathing.

There is a knock at the door.

For one moment, everything is silent, the way it can only be when silence has briefly been interrupted by loud noise. Then Remus pulls himself upright and gets off the floor. He gazes at his reflection in the mirror. His breathing has gone shallow. His hands are high up in his hair. In his head, a voice whispers: It’s him. He’s back.

He regrets having eaten breakfast as a wave of nervous nausea hits with the swiftness of a bludger. Breathe in, breathe out. He approaches the door, then freezes.

One second passes by. And another. He daren’t look through the peephole. Instead, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, he turns the jamb then opens the door quickly, like ripping off a band aid. No one speaks.

Suddenly, he feels bony arms around him. He smells salt and sand and sweat and Sirius. He opens his eyes. There he is. 

When Sirius finally loosens his hug slightly, it is not to let Remus go, it is to look him in the eye. Remus’ knees threaten to give out under the force of the famous Sirius Black gaze, but he’s held upright by that same Sirius Black, who whispers: “Did you read my letters?”

He nods.

Then Sirius moves in to kiss him. Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.  
Remus loves kissing. When they first got together, Remus had an arsenal of tricks (including, but not limited to: blackmail, false promises, bribes, threats and chocolate frogs), to manipulate Sirius into kissing him for hours on end. It’s not that Sirius doesn’t love kissing. There’s just no one who loves it as much as Moony does.

So this time, when Sirius kisses Remus, it means that he has not forgotten him. It means that he wants to please him, as well as that he wants to taste his lips again. It means that they are still Moony and Padfoot.

When, after an immeasurably long kiss, Sirius pulls away, it is only to say: “Davey Gudgeon is downstairs. He’s waiting for eleven sickles.” 

And Remus can’t help but laugh a little at that.


End file.
